


Cherry Bomb

by my99centdreams



Category: Hole, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Always-a-girl!Gerard, Established Relationship, F/F, Haircuts, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my99centdreams/pseuds/my99centdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gina opens her eyes, the sudden silence in the room almost dizzying and catches sight of Courtney’s scandalized expression in the mirror. She laughs and cuts off the first piece – the tiny snip making something flip in her belly - glancing down to see it resting in the sink. She takes a deep breath; it’s cool, she’s got this. “Flip the fucking tape over, will you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Bomb

"It's gonna look like shit," Courtney huffs. "You know that, right?"

"Wow," Gina snorts. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I'm just saying," she shrugs, going back to her magazine. She’s reading one of those high fashion magazines like she’s ever going to wear anything that aren’t tiny dresses, gauzy nighties, and cut off t-shirts. She's also hoarding the bottle of Jack in her lap and waving around the pair of scissors Gina found like she's not the kind of girl who'll poke her fucking eye out.

Gina kind of wants to shove her onto the floor because Courtney cuts her own hair all the time so who is she to say that this is a stupid idea? The only thing stupid about this idea is that they're more focused on getting drunk and singing along to whatever mixtape Kurt made Courtney this week than the actual haircutting itself. She's not really sure what look she's even going for at this point, but she's refused to let her mom get her hands on her hair for the last year and it's hanging limp and ratty below her shoulders now; she gets bored just looking at her reflection.

"Fuck," Courtney spits. "What _is_ this?"

Gina listens, hips swaying along to the beat, "It's Bikini Kill, dumbass."

"I know it's fucking Bikini Kill, _dumbass_ , what I don't know is what the fuck it's doing on my tape."

"It's for me." Gina smiles, hands pushing and pulling at her hair to see what looks best. "Kurt and I were talking and we both agree that you need more Bikini Kill in your life."

"Yeah, just what I need: more girls who hate my fucking guts. Right on the dot, guys." Courtney shakes her head, setting the scissors down to take a swig from the bottle, sliding her hand across her lips when she's done. "You got any smokes?"

And it’s not like they hate Courtney for no reason, because Courtney tends to do a lot of crazy shit when she’s drunk (and high), crazy shit that sometimes ends with certain band girls getting broken noses after making jokes about Courtney’s train wreck of a family. Gina’s more than a little relieved that she wasn’t around to see that spectacle; if they knew she was running around with Courtney they’d blacklist her for sure.

Gina raises an eyebrow in the mirror, "How many have you had today?"

Courtney ignores her, bringing the bottle to her lips again. "You're gonna look like a dyke if you shave it all off, you know. Then Jenny's never gonna leave you alone."

"You think I look like a dyke now," she snorts. "What the fuck difference would it make? And Jenny hasn't said anything since Shawna told Jamie who told Ally who told Krista that you went to juvie. They're all fucking terrified of you."

“And why shouldn’t they be, huh?” Courtney leans in closer, her leg slipping off the toilet seat as her eyes peer up at Gina brightly. “I’m fucking crazy, remember?”

And maybe there was a time when Gina was afraid of Courtney, too. Before she crashed into her at a Sonic Youth gig in January and again in the girls’ bathroom at school in March, sharing her last cigarette as they pressed their faces against the tiny window near the handicapped stall, blowing smoke towards the small open space, and again four days later when they got drunk and danced to the music being pumped out of the back door of a bar, Courtney scuffing up her Mary Janes and Gina trying not to step on her toes with her Docs.

"Stop hogging the fucking bottle, Christ. I've got a pack in my drawer; light me one. And when you ruin your voice before you even find a fucking band don’t come crying to me." Courtney scrambles over to the nightstand, flashing her as she bends to dig inside the drawer, reminding her that Courtney's got detention on Saturday for several dress code violations. Gina pins her hair up, making faces at herself in the mirror as she pokes at her soft belly. She's got yellowing bruises on her hips from Courtney's fingers and a big one on her thigh from some asshole at a show along with hickeys on her neck; she looks like a fucking painting with all these colors staining her skin. "You going to detention tomorrow?"

"Should I?" She asks, passing over a lit cigarette to Gina before dragging Gina’s guitar out from under her bed and walking back into the bathroom.

"If you don't you're gonna get two more," Gina reminds her, taking a drag. She's pretty sure she could rock short hair, something that'll look normal at school but won't label her as an outsider at shows.

"Did you get detention for smoking in the bathroom?" Courtney sticks her smoke under the strings of the guitar, right where they pull taut before resting on the first fret. She starts strumming, easy stuff like power chords, stuff Gina can do in her sleep but suddenly forgets how to when she's singing.

"Not this week," she says, grinning. She sticks her tongue out at her reflection one last time before turning and grabbing both the bottle of Jack and the scissors. When she leans down to get the scissors Courtney's hand latches onto her wrist as the other comes up and plucks her cigarette out of her mouth, Gina's short "hey" of protest getting cut off as she presses their lips together hard. She tastes smoky and sharp and _familiar_. Gina slings her arm around the back of her neck, the bottle pressing up against the back of Courtney’s head as her guitar presses awkwardly at her stomach.

“Suck up,” Courtney whispers when she pulls back, eyes flicking up from Gina’s lips.

“Suck _me_ ,” Gina breathes, kissing her one last time before spinning around and facing the mirror with a determined expression on her face. She can totally do this. “Just ‘cause you have to wake up early tomorrow doesn’t mean you should take it out on me.”

“I’m _taking it out on you_ ,” Courtney mocks, rolling her eyes. “Because you’re taking forever and I wanna go out tonight.”

“You’re not even fucking dressed yet, calm down.” Gina takes one big gulp from the bottle before slamming it onto the counter and holding out a piece of her hair, closing her eyes as she brings the scissors up.

“Uh, yeah I am?” And she’s really fucking not. She’s got this black slip on that Gina found for her in a thrift store last week that just barely covers her ass with a pair of chunky black heels. Gina sometimes forgets that they’re the same age or even the same species let alone whatever the fuck they are _together_. Gina’s idea of dressed involves a whole lot of plaid skirts, t-shirts, and leather jackets, not vintage lingerie. “What the fuck are you doing? You can’t cut your hair with your fucking eyes closed!”

Gina opens her eyes, the sudden silence in the room almost dizzying and catches sight of Courtney’s scandalized expression in the mirror. She laughs and cuts off the first piece – the tiny _snip_ making something flip in her belly - glancing down to see it resting in the sink. She takes a deep breath; it’s cool, she’s got this. “Flip the fucking tape over, will you?”

Courtney gets up wordlessly (which is amazing really because Gina couldn’t pay her to keep her fucking mouth shut for five minutes), and traipses into her bedroom to flip the tape over and flops back down on the toilet lid just as the first notes of the next song begin. “Be honest, how punk rock do you feel right now? On a scale of Debbie Harry to Darby Crash.”

“I’m probably a Joan Jett right now.” Gina giggles, a hand running through her hair to shake it out a little. She keeps snipping away, biting her bottom lip as Courtney watches from behind her, her bruised knees folded under her.

“Wow,” Courtney murmurs a few minutes later when all of Gina’s work is starting to show.

“What?” She’s too quiet for Gina’s liking. Silence and Courtney do not mix well together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Courtney meets her eyes in the mirror and smiles. “Nothing’s wrong. I don’t know… this just feels kind of big, you know?”

“It’s huge,” Gina agrees, nodding.

They’re silent after that, listening to the muffled sounds of Darby Crash in the background, Gina’s out of tune guitar, and the quiet _snip snip_ of the scissors. It takes her about fifteen minutes to finish and by that time the tape’s run out of songs to play, they’ve both smoked more than they should, and Courtney’s written a song that isn’t made up entirely of two finger power chords for once.

She lets the scissors drop onto the counter when she’s sure she’s done and runs her fingers through her hair, messing up the choppy pieces and shaking any loose strands free. Her hair falls about an inch above her shoulder now and is probably always going to look like she just rolled out of bed or had sex and the more she looks at herself the more she realizes she’s a weird mix of 80’s Siouxsie Sioux without the gravity defying hairspray and Jamie Hewlett’s Jet Girl. She kind of fucking loves it.

“Shit,” Courtney breathes suddenly, making Gina whip around to face her.

“What?” her eyes widen as her hands fly up to tangle in her hair self consciously. “Does it look that bad?”

“Fuck,” Courtney drops her guitar - fucking _drops_ it - and if she wasn’t pressing Gina up against the counter and digs her fingers into Gina’s hips she would totally yell at her for that. “ _Fuck,_ look at you. You look like – like-”

“Siouxsie Sioux? A comic book character?”

“Like the fucking voice of a generation.”

“Yeah?” Gina grins, hands dropping to her sides.

“ _Yeah_ , god. You also look like someone I need to fuck right about now so.” Courtney kisses her quickly, biting down hard on Gina’s lip like she always does when she’s in a hurry, like she needs something to make the kiss memorable.

“Right now?” Gina asks, glancing over her shoulder at Courtney who’s now shoving her into her bedroom. “I thought we were going out.”

“It’s only twelve there’s plenty of time for that later; the night’s still young.” Gina snorts, laughing as Courtney pushes her back onto the bed.

“It’s total sex hair, right?”

“Oh absolutely.” Courtney nods seriously, a smile devouring her face a moment later. “Now, shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> May Courtney Love have mercy on my soul.


End file.
